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“Uh, yes. That’s me.” I stood.
The deliveryman placed the bouquet at the edge of my desk, forcing Trey to stand again. When the guy was gone, Trey and I bothstared at the flowers for a long minute.
“Maybe whatever’s distracting you has resolved itself,” he suggested. “Looks like he’s pretty damned sorry.”
“It’s not guy problems, Trey,” I snapped.
He stepped back, raising his palms in a sign of surrender. “Just saying.” He took another step away and I thought maybe we were done, but then he turned back around. “Holland,” his voice was a low whisper now. “Miss any more work and we’ll be having this chat in my office, and there will be a very different outcome.” He indicated the flowers, and then walked away.
I pulled the card from the bouquet, ignoring the interested stares of those sitting around me.
You are amazing.—Oliver
I tucked the card into my pocket and sat back down, pulling out my phone to text Oliver.
Me:Can we talk?
Oliver:Tonight?
Me:Now?
Oliver:Did you get any deliveries over there yet?
Me:Thank you for the ridiculously oversized bouquet.
Oliver:Too much?
Me:A little. The queen might be underwhelmed, but anyone else . . .
Oliver:What about a duchess?
Me:Talk?
Oliver:Drink after work?
Me:Fine.
Oliver:Twisters?
Me:6pm.
Oliver:See you then, duchess.
CHAPTER 13
Oliver
Being in that meeting, having that powerful feeling surging through me, with Holland at my side, had been like nothing I’d felt before. I’d been strong, capable, and pretty fucking close to complete, despite my questionable parentage. Some key parts of my life had snapped into focus as I’d walked to the front of that boardroom. I wasn’t going to let those go again. And one of those things was Holland. We were an amazing team.
I wanted to talk, to recap, maybe relive a little of the glory we’d just shared, but Holland’s mood had darkened when it was over. She’d practically leapt from the car when I pulled up to her apartment. My hand was on the door latch, and I was about to follow her, to demand she talk to me, but I thought better of it. I’d dropped a bomb on her Saturday, and hadn’t heard from her for the rest of the weekend. It had been hard, wondering what she’d been thinking, but I’dhandled it, knowing that as long as she didn’t tell me I shouldn’t come to the meeting, everything was fine.
But as she practically stormed from my car into her building, things were clearly not fine. She’d presented well—she’d been graceful and smart, articulate and so fucking sexy. But she’d been angry, too, and she had every reason to be. I’d been less than honest, and I’d surprised her.
As I pulled away with the beginning of a dark spot marring my newfound happiness, I hoped I hadn’t already ruined everything. We needed to talk. But she needed to be ready.
I couldn’t help sending the flowers—it was an instinct, and I’d been trained in these things by my dad. By Adam. He was the ultimate romantic, according to Sonja. And I’d been an eyewitness to his grand gestures on many occasions. I’d even sent Holland’s flowers myself, though Pamela had given me the florist’s number.
“Good to see you back, Oliver,” she’d said, smiling as she handed me the number on a Post-it note.
